


Heroes Are Made, Not Born

by Snafu1000



Series: 'Moments In Time' Universe [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25262665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snafu1000/pseuds/Snafu1000
Summary: An Inquisition tale in the Moments In Time universe. Cassandra Pentaghast. Talia Cousland. Devon Hawke. When the world's last hope is a frail child trained as a scribe, three of the greatest heroes of the Dragon Age must come together train a fourth, to help a frightened girl become the hero that all of Thedas needs.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age)
Series: 'Moments In Time' Universe [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/24959
Comments: 13
Kudos: 45





	1. Prologue: The Calm Before The Storm

_**Haven** _

_**5 Drakonis, 41 Dragon** _

_**Three days before the Conclave** _

"Greetings, Warden."

The room was almost exactly as Talia remembered it: low-ceilinged and broad, with massive pillars supporting the weight of the mountain that this chamber and those beyond had been hewn into. Statues of Andraste stood at intervals around the room, and intricate carvings adorned the walls and the arch over the massive bronze door, but while the dust of centuries had been meticulously cleaned away, no further decorations had been added.

The ceremony and thronging crowds that dominated the village below were nowhere to be found here; guards outside maintained the inviolability of this place. A single, slanted writing desk and a stool were the only additions, set unobtrusively against one wall, the seat occupied by the robed man who addressed her now.

"Brother Genitivi," she greeted him with a smile. "It's good to see you again." The Chantry scholar had aged in the years since she had seen him last, the lines on his face deepened and the fringe of hair around his bald head thinned and gone completely grey, but his features still reflected the quiet strength that had been evident to her the first time that they had met, the serenity in his clear, grey eyes even more pronounced than it had been then.

"Likewise," he told her, shaking that hand that she offered him. "I don't suppose you've decided to try again?" he asked hopefully.

Talia chuckled, shaking her head. "You know as well as I do that it wouldn't work," she chided him lightly. Few enough had managed to pass the Gauntlet that guarded the path to the Sacred Ashes even once; Talia was one, Genitivi another. None of those who had succeeded had ever attempted to repeat the feat, though they had been urged by others to try. "I just … thought I'd pay my respects."

He nodded ruefully. "Hopefully, the Maker will forgive my presumption. It seemed to me that if anyone might pass the Gauntlet twice, it would be you." His words were as sincere as the approval in his eyes, but she shook her head again.

"Not me," she said softly. If any were likely to be granted access to Andraste's ashes a second time, it would be someone like Genitivi, the humble scholar who had been the one to find the location of the earthly remains of the Maker's bride, a place once dismissed by even the most learned minds of the Chantry as a place of myth and legend. His faith was genuine and heartfelt, his devotion to the Maker unswerving, his humility, despite his achievements and renown, remarkable. He had been offered any number of teaching positions and patronages, turned them all down to remain at Haven, recording any events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and penning accounts of his life's travels during the long stretches when little of note took place.

Her eyes turned now to the third – and final – individual in the chamber. "He still doesn't talk?" she asked Brother Genitivi.

The scholar shook his head. "Only to those who would attempt the Gauntlet." Both of their voices were instinctively hushed, but the Guardian's demeanor likely would not have changed had they been shouting. Unlike Genitivi, the Guardian of the Sacred Ashes had not changed; his face had remained as ageless as it had been when Talia and her companions had stood here a decade earlier, his expression serene, his light blue eyes focused on some vision that only he could see. He had never been observed to eat, drink, sleep; he never moved from his post in front of the door that led to the Gauntlet; his armor never rusted or grew dusty; and he spoke only to the supplicants who thought to win their way through to the Ashes.

"Even the ones who have made no public declaration; he knows, sometimes even before they do," Genitivi went on. The grey eyes cut to her significantly, but Talia just smiled at the unspoken suggestion before turning to approach the Guardian.

"Hello again," she said quietly. The pale eyes stared through her; not a flicker of recognition or acknowledgment touched the ageless face. "I just … we're here; it seemed rude not to come. Leliana will be here later, with Justinia." Her lover was currently making last minute preparations for the Conclave, her focus chiefly upon the safety of the Divine amidst both templars and mages who had rebelled against the authority of the Chantry to settle centuries of accrued grievances and distrust in a war that threatened to tear the south of Thedas asunder. "I figured I'd miss the crowd." Justinia's visit to the holiest site in the Andrastian faith would surely include a throng of onlookers, hoping for either the validation or the repudiation of the Chantry's highest office by the last disciple of Andraste. Talia's own visit would likely have drawn attention, but she had chosen to come almost immediately after their arrival at Haven, before word of her presence had spread.

Behind her, she heard the faint pop of the stopper being removed from the inkwell. Brother Genitivi was still holding out hope that there would be words to be recorded, but Talia knew better.

"You know I won't try again, don't you?" she asked the Guardian. "I didn't make it through the last time because I was a good person, or because I believed. I made it because it was part of the Maker's plan." The Ashes had restored Eamon Guerrin to health; the Arl had been instrumental in defeating Loghain Mac Tir, which in turn had allowed the Grey Wardens to defeat the Blight that had threatened to overwhelm Ferelden and Thedas.

"I didn't know His plan then, and I still don't," she went on, studying the lines of his face, tempted to reach out and touch him, test his reality. Others had, she knew and had read of their attempts; no amount of poking or shoving could disturb his vigil, or even shift his position. No pleading or exhortation, no shouts or threats could pierce his detached mien. "I wish I did. You knew before, some of what was happening in the world; do you know now? Can you feel it? People are dying; they're killing each other because of the Maker and what they think His will is, because nobody really knows. You knew Andraste, spoke with her; your words might sway people at the Conclave, if you would just speak, say something to them ..." She trailed off, regarding him intently, searching for any sign of a reaction, finding none.

Giving up with a sigh, she sank to her knees, bowed her head in prayer. She had visited Chantries across Thedas, had never felt the Maker's presence, and she did not feel it now, but this was the place where she had finally accepted her role as an instrument of His will. Her faith was not the earnest piety of Genitivi, nor the steadfast conviction of Leliana. Hers was the loyalty of a warrior given to a skilled but ruthless general. The Maker had taken everything from her to force her onto the path He had chosen for her, shaped her as a smith forged steel into a blade, through the fires of battle and loss, and the unending pressure of duty and choices that she had never sought. That He existed, she had no doubt; that He had a greater plan, she was equally sure of, but she never forgot that His plan had included allowing His bride to be burned alive, and that there was no one who was not expendable in the furtherance of that plan.

_For as there is but one world,_

_One life, one death, there is_

_But one god, and He is our Maker._

Faith had been a part of her upbringing, but she had never given the teachings any deep thought, never pondered whether the Maker or Andraste were real. She had obediently parroted Mother Mallol's lessons and let them slip from her mind as soon as she left the Chantry.

_O Creator, see me kneel:  
For I walk only where You would bid me.  
Stand only in places You have blessed.  
Sing only the words You place in my throat._

After the betrayals at Highever and Ostagar, there had been little left in her but hate and hurt and the relentless hunger for vengeance. Leliana's initial attempt to comfort her with talk of the Maker's plan, of faith in darkness, had been rejected savagely. The Maker didn't exist, or, existing, didn't care. Only after learning of the horrors the bard had endured had Talia begun to regard her faith with something besides scorn, though it had seemed impossible that she could ever feel anything similar.

_My Creator, judge me whole:_

_Find me well within Your grace._

_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed._

_Tell me I have sung to your approval._

Haven and the temple on the mountain above had changed her. Her rashness and lack of control had nearly gotten Leliana killed. The Gauntlet had brought her face to face with a power that could be neither explained nor denied, forced her to choose, to set aside her pursuit of revenge for a more noble calling. She had accepted, the bargain sealed by flames that had healed, rather than burned.

_I have faced armies_

_With You as my shield,_

_And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing_

_Can break me except Your absence._

The scars that had been healed by the flames had long since been replaced by new ones; she harbored no illusions of invulnerability. If her death served His purposes, the Maker would let her die, as countless others had already died. She did not depend on Him to stay alive, or to protect the lives of those she loved.

That was her job.

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world,_

_And comfort is only yours to give._

She rose, gave the Guardian a last, searching look, then bowed to him and returned to Brother Genitivi. "Told you," she said with a wry smile.

"Just an old man's foolish hope," he replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Perhaps it is blasphemous, but I cannot help but wish that he would offer some guidance in these troubled times."

"Justinia will visit later," Talia assured him. "If he's going to speak to anyone, it would be her." The Divine's faith was genuine, but she had not seemed to be expecting any revelations; the pilgrimage was a blend of piety and protocol in the midst of final preparations for the conclave.

The scholar nodded, though his wistful expression suggested that he knew as well as she did that the odds were long. "It was good to see you again, at any rate. Perhaps we can meet at the tavern before you go?"

"I'd like that," Talia agreed readily. "I'll be leaving today to travel to Denerim, but when I get back, I'll let you know." She had resigned herself to several weeks worth of bureaucracy surrounding the conclave, but at least she had an excuse for escaping the tedium for a time.

Outside, the sun shone brightly overhead, a few wisps of clouds pale against the blue sky. There was still a decided chill in the air; spring came late to the mountains, and here and there, drifts of snow still lay in the shadows and crevices. Ideally, such a gathering would have been held later in the year, but circumstances were far from ideal, and the conclave had been scheduled as early as weather conditions permitted. Talia's eyes turned, instinctively seeking out the spot where they had fought the dragon, where Leliana had nearly died. The rubble had been cleared away from the ruins, the last remnants of the dragon's carcass long since carted away by those who collected and sold such items. She'd been told that a small pedestal in the ruins bore a bronze plaque commemorating the battle; she didn't look for it. She had no need of the reminder; she never forgot that fight, and what it had almost cost her.

A trail had been cut along the side of the mountain as an alternative to the labyrinthine caverns that wound through the stone; those were off limits to all but a handful of Chantry scholars who were still mapping the layout and cataloging centuries of artifacts gathered by the dragon worshiping cult. Talia had no desire to revisit those caves or the memories associated with them; she followed the path, encountering few on her way, exchanging nods and murmured greetings when she did. Below, she could see the growing crowds moving among the restored village of Haven. Hundreds were expected to attend the Conclave: members of the Chantry; mages and templars; emissaries of Ferelden, Orlais, Nevarra, Antiva. The conflict had affected every nation in southern Thedas; almost every monarch and leader had sent representatives to observe and report. The town was already close to capacity, even with the most suspicious of the delegations choosing to encamp in the outlying wilderness. There were even qunari: a Tal-Vashoth mercenary company had been hired by the Chantry as part of the peacekeeping forces.

Emerging below, she joined the milling crowds with no fanfare. She wore no armor, and was garbed in a simple tunic and trews, a grey woolen cloak draped over her shoulders. Whatever the people thought the Hero of Ferelden looked like, evidently she wasn't it, and that suited her. It had been a decade since the end of the Fifth Blight, and Talia now felt as different from the Grey Warden who had killed the Archdemon as that Grey Warden had been from the girl who fled Highever with Duncan. Undoubtedly, as news of her identity became more widely known, she would draw more attention, which was part of the reason that she intended to absent herself from Haven until after the conclave. Regardless of the fact that her only unwavering allegiance lay with a certain redhead, she was viewed by many as a representative of both Ferelden and the Grey Wardens, and she had no interest in spending the next several days weighing every word before it was spoken for anything that could be taken out of context.

And she was quite certain that nobody, Leliana included, wanted her speaking her mind to these idiots who had dragged half the world into their war.

Most of the houses and buildings of Haven had been preserved and repaired when the Chantry had assumed stewardship of the town; they had been sturdy and well built, suited for the mountain climate. One exception had been made: the temple where the dragon cult had worshiped had been torn down and a Chantry erected on the site. While some effort had been made to keep the architecture consistent with the rest of the town – over the objections of those who wanted a temple to rival the Grand Cathedral at Val Royeaux – it was still by far the largest building in Haven, but also one of the best guarded, given the fact that it was where Justinia had set up her temporary headquarters.

The guards all knew Talia, and she was allowed to enter, stepping into a bustling domain that seemed only slightly less crowded than the town outside. She knew a good many of the people here, however, exchanging nods and murmurs of greeting until she spotted a friendly face … and a not so friendly one.

"Out of the question," Roderick Asignon, Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, snipped at the woman before him. "I have already set the Most Holy's schedule for tomorrow. There is no time for a meeting with a minor dignitary."

"Arl Teagan Guerrin is no minor dignitary." Josephine Montilyet gave no sign that she noticed the disparaging glower that the bureaucrat was directing toward her. "He was the uncle of King Cailan, and holds no small influence in the court of Anora and Fergus. Not to mention that the traditional boundaries of Rainesfere include Haven."

"These lands have been ceded to the Chantry!" Roderick bristled.

"And done so most graciously," Josephine reminded him, "but the number of people attending this conclave cannot be contained within these lands, and Arl Teagan has generously offered the hospitality of Redcliffe to the mages and many others."Generous, but not so surprising, given that his nephew was numbered among the mages.

"And there's also the fact that his brother was healed by the Sacred Ashes," Talia put in helpfully as she joined them. Eamon had died the previous summer, after enjoying several years of excellent health following his had succeeded him as Arl of Redcliffe; a new bann for Rainesfere had yet to be chosen.

The flat stare that the Chancellor directed at her was nothing new. Between the fact that she was one of the few to pass the trials of the Gauntlet (he had tried and failed … twice) and her unrestricted access to Divine Justinia, Talia Cousland had been a burr under Roderick's saddle from the moment they had met.

Not that she ever did anything to exacerbate that feeling, of course.

"I can manage half an hour tomorrow before the Most Holy's tea with the Grand Clerics," he said at last, in the tone of one conferring a great favor at great personal sacrifice.

"That will be more than sufficient." Ever the diplomat, Josie smiled warmly at Roderick, who regarded her with a haughty disdain that had Talia resisting the urge to needle him. "I will inform Arl Teagan's emissary at once; he will be most pleased, I am sure. Thank you, Chancellor."

"As long as it doesn't happen again," Roderick sniffed. "In the future, such audiences should be brought to my attention well in advance. The Divine's schedule is set weeks ahead of time." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode off, the picture of a man on important business.

Josie sighed and shook her head, the smile fading. "That man!" she exclaimed once he was out of earshot. "Divine Justinia would never have refused a meeting with Arl Teagan, and he knows it!"

"He's just trying to make sure you know your place," Talia told the Antivan.

"Maker willing, he will never know my place," Josephine countered. The sentiment was a heartfelt one. Ostensibly, the former Antivan ambassador to Orlais had been recruited to assist with coordinating the events of the conclave, and if all went well, that was as far as her authority would ever extend. While word of the conclave had spread throughout Thedas, only five people apart from Justinia knew of the Divine's full intentions, should the meetings between mages, templars and Chantry prove unsuccessful in bringing the widespread conflict to an end.

"Where's Cullen?" Talia asked her in a low voice.

"Nearby and out of sight," Josephine replied. "Bethany and Leli are guests at Redcliffe."

Sensible precautions in both cases. Justinia had heeded Talia's advice and recruited the templar who had survived the chaos of the circles in Ferelden and Kirkwall, but he would be an even more polarizing figure in the delicate negotiations than Talia, hated by the mages for being a templar, and hated by the templars for marrying a mage. In the old order of things, Leliana's namesake would have been taken from her mother at birth and given to the Chantry to raise, and both Cullen and Bethany would have been punished for daring to love each other. Even if the conclave was successful, Justinia intended for changes to be made.

If it failed, the Inquisition would be reborn, and the Chantry – and most of Thedas – would be turned upon its collective ear. Maker willing, it would not happen, but like Talia, Justinia knew that the Maker could not be counted on to intervene. The writ had been drawn up, the groundwork laid. Cullen would command what military forces could be recruited; Josephine would take the role of ambassador, representing the Inquisition, negotiating the alliances that would be crucial.

The Left Hand of the Divine was to be the spymaster of the Inquisition. It was not a role that Talia was pleased with; the things that Leliana had done on Justinia's behalf as Divine would pale in contrast to what would be required of her in the coming upheaval. It was for that reason that the Warden had declined when the Most Holy had offered her the office that had ultimately gone to Cullen. Her bard would need her if worse came to worst, and Talia had no intention of putting herself into a position where she might ever again be called to choose duty over her love. That part of her life was done.

"How is it going?" she asked Josephine. The Antivan had been in Haven for the better part of the last week, monitoring arrivals and keeping feathers smoothed.

"Peaceful thus far," Josie reported. "Both templar and mage delegations are wary, but seem genuinely willing to at least listen to the Divine's suggestions for ending the conflict." She paused, then added, "I would note, however, that both Grand Enchanter Fiona and Lord Seeker Lucius sent intermediaries in their place, albeit with full authority to negotiate preliminary terms."

"Not really surprising," Talia observed. "Or necessary." While Fiona and Lucius ostensibly led the opposing factions, anything remotely resembling organization had long since disintegrated. Mages and templars fought – and killed each other – wherever they met, with the rest of southern Thedas caught between.

"True," Josephine agreed with a rueful moue – diplomacy was made more difficult without a clear cut leader to negotiate with, "but it would have set a good example. Ah, well." She gave a pragmatic shrug, clearly resolved to work with what she'd been given. "You are fleeing to Denerim, I believe?"

"I am." Talia met the tease with an unrepentant grin. "I've a niece I've yet to meet, and two nephews who have likely doubled in size since I saw them last."

"That does sound more appealing than what I have planned," Josie said, adding with an air of wistful resignation, "however, since my siblings have yet to present me with any nieces or nephews, I have no such excuses for my absence."

"You wouldn't miss this if you could," Talia accused her good-naturedly. The pomp, circumstance and ceremony were meat and drink to the woman who knew the proper forms of address for the nobility of every nation in Thedas and could determine with precision the difference in rank between a Free Marches viscount, an Antivan merchant prince and a Fereldan teyrn.

"Perhaps not," her friend conceded, the gleam of enthusiasm in her eyes making it clear that there was no 'perhaps' about it. "It is invigorating to be in the midst of events that will affect all of Thedas." She paused, giving Talia a sidelong glance and a slightly sheepish smile. "I suppose you have had your fill of such things."

"Something like that," Talia murmured. Luck – or the Maker – had put her at the forefront of more fateful events than she cared to remember, but at each one, there had been a choice to refuse, to walk away, that she had not made. She couldn't complain, but that didn't mean that she was going to volunteer when her presence would not be a vital one. A few days as a sister and an aunt to refresh herself, and then she would return to Leliana to assist in whatever duties Justinia's Left Hand assumed following the outcome of the conclave. With luck, a truce to be nurtured, a new foundation to be established that would give mages some of the freedoms they deserved while maintaining the protective strength of the templars as guardians, not jailers. Without luck -

"When do you leave?" Josie's question interrupted the bleak turn of her thoughts, and Talia let them go without regret. That river would be crossed when – if – they reached it.

"As soon as I find Leliana to say goodbye," she replied, glancing around the great hall.

"She and Cassandra are with the Most Holy in the conference chamber," Josie informed her, nodding toward the closed door at the far end of the structure. "Please inform Divine Justinia of her audience with Arl Teagan tomorrow, if you would."

"I will," Talia promised. Roderick was perfectly capable of 'forgetting' to add the appointment to the schedule that he provided Justinia each morning, though he likely would not do so, knowing that she had witnessed his agreeing to it.

She wove her way through priests and clerks, lay clergy and scholars, until she reached the conference chamber, but when she reached for the heavy bronze handle, the door swung open, and she stepped backward just in time to avoid a collision.

"Oh! My lady, I am so sorry!" The petite blonde woman – girl, really – stared up at her over an armful of books and parchment, blue eyes widening in astonishment. "Oh, Maker's breath, you're her! You're the Hero of Ferelden! And I almost ran you over!"

As she didn't look as though she'd weigh seven stone soaking wet, even with the books, that seemed an unlikely hazard; her dismay would have been comical had it not been so genuine. "I've survived much worse," Talia assured her with a good-natured smile. "No harm done."

"It's all right, Alex," Leliana put in gently when this didn't seem to soothe the girl's distress. "She doesn't bite."

"Not in public, anyway." The Divine's voice was bland enough, but there was a glint in the blue eyes that most folk never saw, and a faintly wicked smile that utterly defeated Talia's resolve not to blush. Trust Justinia to remember the one time she'd been a bit overly amorous and left marks on the fair skin of Leliana's neck … and to bring it up in mixed company.

It was hard to say who was redder: Talia or Alex, though the girl's fair skin showed it far more. She stammered something that sounded like a mix of apology and prayer and scuttled off, the door closing behind her. Leliana waited until she was well away before bursting into laughter, and the sound of her giggling was more than enough to make Talia forgive Justinia the jest at her expense. It had been far too long since she had heard such merriment from her love, and for that, she would willingly play the fool.

"Maker, it's been years since I've been able to make her blush like that!" Leliana exclaimed, reaching up to pat her Warden's flushed cheek, blue eyes dancing with mirth. She was so very beautiful when she laughed!

"Nice to know I haven't lost my touch," Justinia said serenely and without a hint of remorse.

Cassandra couldn't seem to decide whether to be amused or scandalized, settling for shaking her head with a rueful chuckle. "The poor girl is probably packing her bags and fleeing for home."

"Unlikely," the Divine replied. "She's the youngest daughter of Bann Asher Trevelyan from Ostwick, the last of five born before his wife finally gave him a son. The family has always been known for their piety, and between that and the prospect of another dowry to be paid, Alexandre was pledged to the Chantry almost as soon as she was born a girl."

"She had no choice in the matter?" Talia asked with a frown.

"None," Justinia confirmed gravely. "I can't say that I favor such practices, but it's better than marrying her off to a man three times her age for a good bride token. She was sickly as a babe, and still a bit frail; childbearing would be the end of her. She does seem happy in the Chantry, at least. She's quite intelligent, loves research, and her memory is nearly flawless; she will rise high among the ranks of our scholars. Praise tends to fluster her right now, however; I suspect that she received little attention at home."

"How old is she?" Talia wondered. "Twelve? Fourteen?"

"Eighteen," Leliana supplied, laughing again at Talia's look of astonishment. "Older than you were when you became a Grey Warden."

Talia shook her head bemusedly. "Did I ever look that young?" She hadn't felt it; not since Highever had fallen.

"Sometimes even younger," Leliana advised her with a roll of her eyes. "I felt I was robbing a cradle some days."

"She's led a sheltered life," Justinia said, the mischief back in her eyes as she added, "I doubt that she understands the finer points of bondage any better than you did at that age."

"Your Reverence!" Cassandra exclaimed, nothing but scandalized now.

Talia did an incredulous double-take, barely managing to defeat the blush that tried to rise anew, and shot her lover a betrayed look. "Do you have to tell her everything?" she asked plaintively.

"I doubt she's done that," the Most Holy replied, as Leliana had been incapacitated by another fit of giggles, "but the story of how you two met came up rather early on."

"And apparently, I haven't heard it." Cassandra's curiosity was clearly winning out over her sense of propriety.

It was Talia's turn to roll her eyes heavenward. "I'd just killed three of Loghain's men in Lothering," she told the Seeker.

"With my assistance," Leliana put in smugly.

"Unasked for assistance," Talia corrected her with a smirk, "after which, she wouldn't let me kill the rest of them." There was no heat in her voice. It had been the first time that the Orlesian's intervention had stayed her hand, cooled her rage, but it had by no means been the last, and she had never regretted any of them. "Needless to say, I wasn't in the best of moods, and then she -" She jerked a thumb in Leliana's direction, "- started going on about visions from the Maker and announced that she'd be coming with us, and I told her I'd tie her up to stop her, and she said -"

"Promises, promises." Leliana's teasing tone was a precise mimicry of her words over a decade earlier, her eyes shining with delight.

Cassandra eyed her incredulously. "And you didn't understand _that_?"

"I was seventeen," Talia replied with a shrug, "and distracted." She glanced toward her lover, lips quirked in a smile. "I figured it out eventually."

"Spare me the details, please," Cassandra told her, shaking her head in bemused exasperation.

"You're safe." Talia hadn't even considered giving a summary account. She cast a suspicious glance toward Justinia, but if Leliana had shared _that_ particular tale with her mentor, she was giving no sign of it. Thank the Maker for small mercies. "By the way, you have an audience with Arl Teagan tomorrow before your tea with the Grand Clerics, Your Eminence."

"Thank you," Justinia replied, giving her a quizzical look. "And I am not hearing this from my Chancellor because -?"

"Josephine thought he might forget to mention it," Talia replied. "I promised her I'd tell you, just in case."

"Ah, Roderick and his sacred schedule," the Divine sighed. "He means well, but he doesn't adapt well to the unexpected."

"Maybe he'd loosen up more if you let him in on these little chats?" Talia suggested, leaving the obvious unsaid. The groundwork for the Inquisition had been prepared; all of them hoped it would be a needless precaution, and did not discuss it any more than necessary, but Roderick would definitely _not_ adapt well, if it came to pass.

"If by 'loosen up', you mean 'pass out on the floor', I'm quite certain that would do the trick," Justinia replied wryly. "I doubt he's ever had an improper thought in his life."

"Not that he'd admit to," Leliana sniffed. "Still waters run deep … and sometimes, they hide a cesspool."

"If he had any unsavory tendencies, you would have discovered them by now," Justinia chided her gently. "And I know you've looked."

"That is my job, yes?" Leliana replied pertly before turning to Talia. "I suppose you are ready to make your escape?"

Talia held out her hand, trying not to look too smug. "See me off?"

"Of course." Leliana laced her fingers with Talia's.

"Give my regards to your brother and Queen Anora," Justinia said as they were leaving.

"I will," Talia promised. She kept silent after that for a bit, until they were well away from the Chantry. "You don't like Roderick much, do you?" she asked quietly as they made their way down the path that wound among the houses.

"It's uncharitable, I know," Leliana sighed after a long hesitation. "Justinia is right: his faith is genuine … but it is also everything that has led the Chantry to this point: rigid, judgmental, self-righteous and unforgiving. Change must come, if the conflict is to end, but Roderick – and those like him – will resist it, simply because it _is_ change." The laughter had faded from her features, giving way to the pensive, somber expression that had been present all too frequently in recent months.

Talia slowed her step, disquiet rippling along her spine. "Do you think there will be trouble?" she asked. "I can stay."

"No." Leliana shook her head. "I don't think there will be trouble … not of that kind, anyway. There will be arguments aplenty, and senseless bickering over minutiae, but I think that all but the most fanatical are tired of the bloodshed."

"They're not the only ones," Talia grumbled, releasing her lover's hand and slipping her arm around the slender waist. Leliana leaned into her readily, and Talia pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Still…"

The bard brought them to a stop, shifting to face Talia, blue eyes serious. "Go," she said firmly. "Visit with your brother and Anora. Hug Bryce and Rory for me, and tell them I will come as soon as I am able."

"That's going to cost you a few stories," Talia warned her.

"A price I will gladly pay," Leliana replied with a smile, falling back into step beside her, past the tavern, a minstrel's song drifting through the open windows, past a merchant haggling with shoppers.

"It's changed," Talia said softly, looking around at the town of Haven. Chantry banners rippling in the breeze; the houses tidy, porches swept, roofs repaired, fences mended; the people milling about wore Chantry robes, nobles' finery – most of the templars and mages avoided the town and each other. It was a far cry from the bucolic village populated by unassuming-looking and simply garbed men, women and children that they had found over a decade ago. And yet, she could still pick out each spot where they had fought, each place where the cultists had died: men, women … children.

"We all have," Leliana told her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, knowing well the memories that lingered here.

Asaarash was already saddled at the stables, Talia's pack and armor strapped on behind. "You know, you can afford to buy a new pack," Leliana remarked, running a finger along one of the multitude of patches that all but obscured the heavy canvas of the duffel that Talia had purchased in Lothering, after emerging from Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds with little more than the clothes and armor that she wore and the sword that she carried.

"I like this one," Talia replied with a shrug, patting the battered thing affectionately. Wynne had stitched the first patches into place, in the Dalish camp in the Brecilian Forest. Talia had watched and learned, then taken over the task, using whatever heavy material had been available at the time: canvas, leather, sailcloth. For more than ten years, it had been her constant companion, a piece of home that she could take with her.

The woman who was her true home smiled at her understandingly, then stepped to Asaarash's head. "Look after her, _mon ami_ ," she told him, reaching up to scratch an ear with one hand while producing a slice of apple, seemingly from nowhere, with the other. The roan whickered, nuzzling her briefly before accepting the offer. He was aloof to nearly everyone except for Talia, lofty disdain turning to savage aggression in combat, but he was as besotted with the redhead as his rider was.

Well, almost.

" _Parshaara_ ," she growled playfully at last, tugging Leliana into her arms. "Get your own woman; this one is mine." The stallion snorted at her, giving the Orlesian a final nudge, plainly unwilling to concede the argument.

Leliana giggled, but her blue eyes were serious as Talia leaned down until their foreheads touched. This was the moment that both of them always dreaded, and though this separation would be considerably shorter than some that they had endured over the years, Talia could not shake the vague sense of disquiet. "I could stay," she offered again. "We could go together, after the conclave ends."

Her lover shook her head, kissed her tenderly. "There is nothing for you to do here but go mad from the endless squabbling and political maneuvering. The Chantry has secured enough mercenaries to keep the peace; few will challenge one Tal Vashoth, let alone a whole company of them. I will send a bird, once the outcome is known, and hopefully arrive a few days after that."

"All right." It had been nearly a year since the last time she had returned to Denerim, shortly after concluding her journey with Devon Hawke and Alistair. Little Celia Eleanor was nearly four months old now; Bryce would be nine, and Rory six. They grew so very quickly, and she had missed so much over the last two years, as events beyond her control drew her into their orbits.

Again. As sodding usual. There seemed to be no end to such events, but this particular event did not require her presence. "Maybe a few days alone at home after we leave Denerim?" she asked persuasively. "The flowers should be blooming."

"That sounds like heaven," Leliana replied with a happy sigh. 'Home' was a cottage built at the edge of a high mountain meadow in Highever, visited all too rarely but loved dearly by both of them. They'd spent a blissful year there after Talia had left the Grey Wardens and before Justinia had asked Leliana to serve as her Left Hand, and only a few stolen days here and there ever since, but it waited for them, maintained by Highever's regent: the promise of the life together that awaited them, once their duties had been fulfilled.

"I'll send word to have the larder stocked as soon as I hear from you, then," Talia promised, already looking forward to a solid week of no visitors, no obligations, nothing to do but eat and sleep and make love in the meadow under the sky before returning to Haven and whatever duties awaited them. She stole a final kiss, tender and lingering. "I love you … and I will return to you."

"I love you, too, and I will wait for you," Leliana replied: two parts of the promise that had sustained them both through numerous partings over the years.

Steeling herself, Talia stepped away and swung easily into the saddle. "I'll see you soon," she promised before nudging Asaarash into a canter and guiding him toward Haven's gate, sparing a final look back and wave to Leliana before she lost sight of her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Haven** _

_**10 Drakonis, 41 Dragon** _

_**Two days after the explosion** _

* * *

"She's been spotted in the pass."

Leliana looked up from the reports that lay strewn before her. The terror that she had been fighting to keep at bay the past two days finally lifted at Cassandra's words, but at the same time, the grief that the terror had kept displaced now swelled to replace it. Once, news that Talia was returning would have been cause for joy, but now, she could not imagine ever feeling happy again.

"She is all right?" she asked.

"Well enough to ride so hard that no one has been able to catch her to tell her that you are unharmed," Cassandra replied, not without sympathy, her face hardening as she added, "She is not alone. A dwarf rides with her."

"A dwarf?" Leliana stared at her uncomprehendingly. There had not been time for Talia to have reached the Grey Warden headquarters in Amaranthine, so it was not likely to be Oghren, but who - "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Once, the sour look on Cassandra's face would have elicited a giggle, but a brilliant flash of green light and a thunderous detonation had changed everything, and now Leliana could never imagine laughing again; she shuffled the papers into some semblance of order before moving to the door. None of them had contained any information of use, anyway; simply the scouts and assets in the field seeking comfort in the familiar activity of their duties. They were all reeling, and Leliana had no comfort or guidance to offer them; she had been going through the motions, as well, reading reports and making notes without ever really noticing what it was she was reading or writing. She'd been numb with grief, and bracing herself against news of an even greater loss as news filtered in of the rifts that had opened in the countryside around Haven and beyond, the demons spilling forth from the Fade.

She left the room in the Chantry where she had set up operations; the bustling center of activity from three days ago was all but deserted, the few occupants moving about in a daze, still trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. Outside was worse; no one _wanted_ to look up, but every eye was drawn to the malignancy in the sky, and where there had been hundreds before, less than five score remained: members of the Chantry, some of the guards, envoys and representatives who had not been present at the Conclave when -

She had started out at a walk, Cassandra at her side, but though the Seeker's legs were longer, Leliana's quickening steps soon outpaced her companion. Running was normally something she avoided: the Left Hand of the Divine could not be seen as anything but calm, controlled, dispassionate. There was no longer a Divine to serve as a Left Hand, however, and so she ran, Cassandra close behind, past the buildings and onlookers, down one set of stone steps after another, all the way to the main gate, the thunder of hoofbeats in her ears rising above the hammering of her own broken heart.

Asaraash galloped into view, his coat lathered with sweat that was blood-tinged from ugly scores along his chest and flanks. His rider was vaulting from the saddle almost before he had come to a full stop, dust billowing up around his hooves, and Leliana hurled herself the remaining distance into Talia's arms, holding on tight, welcoming the crushing embrace and desperate kiss of her Warden.

"You're all right," Talia gasped out when their lips parted, wild eyes searching her face as if doubting its reality. "I saw it … I was on the other side of the lake, but I _saw_ it! I heard it! I -" Her gaze lifted to the breach, consternation and dread washing over her features. "What _is_ that? What happened?"

"Little help here?" The query from Asaraash's passenger saved Leliana from trying to give an answer that she did not have.

"What are you doing here?" Cassandra demanded, glowering even as she moved to help the dwarf dismount.

"Following orders." Varric Tethras shot back, returning the Seeker's glare with interest. "Where's Curly?"

"On his way." It was Talia who answered, relief touching her features as she watched Cullen racing down the steps, Josie not far behind. Relief shifted to concern as the dark eyes lifted past them to the Chantry, then to the ruin of the mountain above. "Maker, no ..." The words little more than a breath as Talia looked to Cassandra, then Leliana. "Justinia?"

Leliana could not reply, her hands gripping Talia's as the control that she had held to the past three days frayed down to a single thread stretched to the breaking point.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Talia muttered, sliding a supporting arm around her as her legs wavered. "Have a healer see to him," she ordered Cassandra, nodding toward Asaraash. The stallion snorted and laid his ears back when the Seeker reached for his reins, but Talia snarled a command in Qunlat at him, and he subsided as Talia guided Leliana toward the nearest of the cottages. It was empty, as most of them were now, clothes and other belongings laying about, waiting for occupants who would never return, cold ashes in the hearth.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Talia pulled Leliana close, strong arms holding her as she surrendered at last to the tears she had not allowed to fall.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Talia whispered, stroking her hair as the sobs shook her. "I should have been here."

"No!" She shook her head, holding tighter. "If you had been up there, too -" She couldn't finish, and for a time, there was only the sound of their shared sorrow, Talia's tears mingling with hers. Slowly, the grief tapered off, and Leliana drew a slow breath, lifting her eyes to her lover's face, reaching up to brush careful fingers along a cut over one eye, the blood crusted to a clot, the flesh around it bruised. "We should get that healed," she murmured, thankful that the armor seemed to have taken the worst of the damage.

"It'll keep," Talia replied, fishing a handkerchief from her pouch and wiping her own eyes before offering it to Leliana. "What happened?" she asked again, gently, as the bard cleaned herself up.

Leliana shook her head. "I do not know," she admitted softly, hating the truth of the statement. "The Conclave was about to begin, but we could not find Justinia. Cassandra and I were in the Chantry looking for her when it happened." She leaned into Talia, drawing the strength to face the memory. "An explosion, larger than when the Archdemon died. Those outside say that the entire sky turned green. Debris rained on the rooftops for nearly five minutes, and when the air cleared -" She gestured outside, her face set in harsh lines, fighting back the grief that tried to rise anew. "The top of the mountain, the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, the Conclave … all obliterated. And that _thing_ in the sky overhead. And then the demons started appearing."

"They're elsewhere, too," Talia reported grimly. "There are smaller tears in the Veil all over. I ran into my first demons less than an hour after the explosion _ **,**_ and they were scattered across the countryside as I rode back."

"Redcliffe?" Leliana asked, not certain what answer she wanted to hear.

"Varric wouldn't have come if Bethany and Leli weren't secure," Talia assured her. "No tears opened up within the town, Teagan has the gates shut, and the mages can help the guards against any demons that make it inside." She regarded her lover more closely, then shook her head. "No," she said firmly, answering the question that Leliana had been unable to voice. "Mages might have done it, but not the ones at Redcliffe. They're as terrified and confused as everybody else … and they know what people are thinking. Teagan's keeping the peace, but it's not easy."

Leliana accepted this with a nod, feeling mostly relieved _ **,**_ trying to ignore the tiny voice deep inside that protested bitterly at the loss of someone to easily blame. Too many people would be making that leap in the coming days; she could not allow herself to be among that number if the murderers of Justina and scores of others were to be brought to justice.

More silence, and Leliana allowed herself to soak in the comfort of her Warden's strong arms around her, breathing in the blessedly familiar scents of leather, steel and sweat. Home, no matter where she was, even when all else had become strange and wild.

After a time, Talia spoke, her voice low and careful. "There were … no survivors, then? At the temple?"

Leliana drew a steadying breath, then another. "There was one," she said, drawing back enough to look into the taller woman's eyes. "Just one."

* * *

"Impossible," Talia murmured, staring down at the tiny, still form on the bed. "She was at the heart of that explosion?"

"As far as we have been able to determine," Cassandra confirmed, scowling. "Witnesses claim that they saw her fall from the Fade itself, and that the form of a woman was visible behind her."

"A woman?" Talia looked up, surprise and hope warring on her face. "Justinia?"

Leliana had wanted so much to believe it, but - "I don't know," she said softly, "but she was not seen again. Alexandre has been unconscious since she was found; we have learned nothing from her."

"Not a mark on her," Talia marveled, touching the girl's chin and turning the pale but uninjured face toward the light from the window. And she had not yet been on the mountain, seen the charred shapes that were all that remained of hundreds of souls. "Nothing except -"

"Don't." Leliana caught Talia's wrist as she reached for the girl's left arm. The Warden acknowledged the warning, carefully turning the limp hand palm up, watching in wary fascination as the mark flared, casting eldritch green light across all their faces.

"Has anyone touched it?" Talia wondered.

"I have." Leliana watched the dark eyes turn to the one who had spoken, saw them seeing the same things she had observed: an elf with a smooth, hairless head and an unlined face devoid of vallaslin, though his garb and bearing did not mark him as an elf from any city. "I am Solas," he introduced himself to Talia, his manner as precise and polite as any courtier, his accent still impossible for Leliana to place. "I am a mage."

"An apostate?" Talia asked with no hint of censure. She had seen for herself the results of the Chantry's heavy-handed treatment of mages. She was cautious where unknown magic was concerned, but she made up her own mind on such matters.

Solas shrugged, the faint smile touching his handsome features showing no hint of disdain. "As I have never been a part of the Andrastean faith, I cannot be considered an apostate to it." He glanced to Cassandra's stony face. "But as I am not affiliated with the Chantry, the term will serve as well as any other to describe me."

Talia regarded him thoughtfully. "What term would you use to describe yourself?"

Surprised approval flickered in eyes that hovered between hazel and grey. "A seeker of knowledge," he replied. "I was drawn to the Conclave by curiosity and hope. Divine Justinia's vision seemed to offer the chance of an end to the conflict that had arisen, and perhaps a new path forward for mages in Thedas." He paused, inclining his head gravely. "I am sorry for your loss."

"The loss is to all of Thedas," Cassandra corrected him, still plainly regarding him with suspicion. "And the explosion was the result of powerful magic."

"Indeed," Solas agreed, showing no hint of offense at the barely-veiled accusation, "but while I have not infrequently been described as being too curious for my own good, remaining on the scene of a phenomenon of this scale, if I were the one responsible, would be exceedingly foolish, verging on suicidal. Indeed," he turned back to Alex, peering down at her, "I find it hard to believe that any individual, even an accomplished mage, could channel such power and survive … let alone a child who by all accounts had displayed no magical ability prior to this."

"None whatsoever," Cassandra confirmed sourly. The Right Hand of the Divine had never cared for mysteries or problems that could not be directly confronted. Leliana was accustomed to shades of grey that ever shifted, but even she had been ready to assign the blame where it seemed most obvious: on the sole survivor of the tragedy who bore the mark of her guilt on her flesh. "But what of the mark?" Cassandra demanded now.

"How she came by it, I cannot say," Solas replied with the same disarming frankness that he had used since first appearing in the aftermath of the explosion. "That will have to wait until she awakens and can tell us herself."

"Will she wake up?" Talia wanted to know, her gaze turning back down to Alex, worry touching her features as the light from the mark flared brighter. Alex whimpered and thrashed without waking, then curled in on herself with a low moan. Outside, shouts and cries of alarm announced the arrival of more demons from the Breach. Talia tensed, ready to charge toward the fight, but Leliana held her back. In the days since the explosion, Cullen had established a procedure for responding to the incursions, and while they were coming at shorter intervals – the increments slight but inexorable, there was no need for Talia to join the fight just yet. The Warden met her eyes briefly, nodded reluctant acquiescence, then turned to Solas.

"That I do not know either," the elf admitted with a sigh.

"You do not know much, mage," Cassandra grumbled.

"The power unleashed here is unprecedented," he countered, still unruffled. "What I can say without doubt is that the mark upon her hand is linked to the Breach. If both continue to grow, the mark will in all likelihood kill her within a week … perhaps less. The Breach will also continue to grow, as will the number of demons released."

The grim prognosis penetrated even the Seeker's implacable demeanor. "Can nothing be done?" she asked in a more subdued manner.

"Not while she remains unconscious," Solas replied, seeming to genuinely regret his answer. "I have done what I can to slow the growth of the mark, and I believe that its link with the Breach may be used to stabilize both, and perhaps even reverse what has been done. Attempting it before she wakes, however, could prove fatal to her … and catastrophic with regard to the Breach. Unfortunately, healing magics are not my strongest skills. Master Adan would be better suited to address queries on that front."

All eyes turned to the gaunt, bearded man who had been holding himself as far away from the goings on as the confines of the hut would allow, and who bristled visibly at the sudden attention.

"I'm just an apothecary," he growled defensively. "I mix potions, salves … I'm no good at nursing, but I'm the only sodding one left alive, so -" He took a step forward, his eyes on the patient, then shrugged. "Her vitals seem strong enough, and she's responding to the potions I've been able to get in her. All things considered, I'd expect her to come around in the next day or so, long as that thing -" He jerked his chin toward the mark, "doesn't suck the life from her."

"As I have said before," Solas began patiently, "I do not believe that is what it -"

"But you don't know for sure," Adan cut him off with an impatient gesture. "Nobody does. What I know is that we've got demons out there -" He jabbed a finger toward the window. "And a slip of a girl in here who might be able to fix it if she wakes up. I'll do my part, do my best to get her on her feet, but that's where my skills end, so somebody – and I don't care who -" His dark glare swept each of them in turn, "needs to deal with the damn demons!"

* * *

"Do you think she was involved?"

"I do not know," Leliana replied, then, "No." She shifted position, nestling herself more closely in Talia's embrace. Neither of them had initiated lovemaking when they finally retired to the cottage that they had chosen to use; exhaustion and sorrow were overwhelming, and the simple comfort of closeness, the warmth of skin on skin and the reassuring rhythm of heart and breath were the balms most needed now. "But I must be sure. I have sent to Val Royeaux for her records, as few as there will likely be. If I missed something -" The thought made her chest tighten with dread, her head spin. What else had she missed? Surely something.

"You didn't." Talia's voice, low and sure in the darkness that surrounded them, the only light from the faint coruscation of the embers in the hearth. Outside, the wind whipped around the stone buildings, rustling in thatched roofs, sweeping over the cobblestones, freezing what the sun had melted; the fire would need to be revived in the morning, but beneath the goosedown blanket and the furs that covered it, enough heat had gathered to counter the chill in the air, except for the block of ice in Leliana's chest that felt as though it would never thaw.

"If she had anything to do with it, it was most likely as an unwitting pawn," the Warden reasoned. "She's little more than a child."

"Children can be dangerous," Leliana countered. "It was common knowledge for many years that the Trevelyans intended their youngest for the Chantry." Plenty of time for the right – or wrong – people to influence a girl who had likely known only benign neglect from her own blood.

"But she was a scribe, and a junior one, at that," Talia persisted. "She had no influence, no access -" Leliana heard her breath catch, feel the sudden tension in the muscles beneath her touch.

"She had all that she would have needed," she confirmed softly, thinking of how easily Alex had been admitted to and from Justinia's presence. "Scribes in the Chantry are anonymous, invisible. It is the same reason that elves are utilized in the Grand Game. No one takes notice of them." Even after the Halimshiral uprising, none of the noble houses in Orlais had made any real effort to scrutinize their servants. "I do not want to suspect her," she went on, turning her face into the crook of her lover's neck. "But … I want someone to blame. To take vengeance upon."

"So do I," Talia said after a moment's silence, "but we both know that she would want justice, not revenge." A kiss pressed to her temple, easing the sting of the words that Leliana knew were true. Justinia might well have even offered forgiveness to the ones responsible for her death, but her Left Hand was not so benevolent.

"I don't care," she declared, hearing the petulance in her voice, but unwilling to concede. The wounds were simply too raw. "If you had been there -" She broke off, not knowing if her words expressed relief or regret. Talia Cousland was the bulwark that she relied on for strength, comfort, sanity itself at times, but had she been at the Conclave among the masses that had been gathered, it was all but certain that, rather than preventing what had taken place, her Warden would have died with the rest.

"I'm here now," Talia reminded her, as practical as ever. Hands stroked soothing paths over her back and shoulders, fingers trailing in her hair, relaxing her in spite of herself. Her body had been strung as tightly as a lute since the explosion. "Tomorrow, we face whatever comes together. Right now -" A tender kiss over each eyelid. "Sleep."

And she might actually be able to; she could feel herself sliding downward, two days of exhaustion and grief adding their inexorable weight to the descent, but - "I'll dream," she murmured reluctantly, knowing it was true. Memory and imagination would twist together into a nightmare with her at its center.

"I'll be here when you do," Talia replied. "I'll wake you. And you'll do the same for me." For ten years now, it had been thus: the give and take that both of them relied upon, steadfast in the face of circumstances that time and again demanded that they ignore their own plans and dreams. The cottage in the meadow over Highever would have to wait longer still, and the world felt as though it might never be right again, but here and now, this was enough. Closing her eyes, Leliana snuggled closer in her Warden's embrace and surrendered to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I noted in the opening chapter, there will be conflict arising between Talia and Leliana over issues facing the Inquisition, but nothing that is going to threaten their relationship. I've put them through enough on that front, I have plenty of other subjects for romantic angst, and to me, it is realistic, healthy and immensely satisfying to be able to portray two individuals in a secure and committed relationship who can disagree, even fight, without severing the bond between their hearts.
> 
> As for Blackwall, I'm going with the 'never existed' route, because I found the story almost insultingly sloppy, writing-wise. The Warden-Constable of the Orlesian order suddenly goes solo and spends five years sending recruits without reporting in at all, and no one thinks it's strange? Leliana doesn't figure it out the first time he opens his mouth in her hearing? Not ONE of the Orlesian Wardens that you run into with him in tow says, "That is not Blackwall."? Add to that the fact that the sob story that he eventually offers you completely failed to resonate with me (my first playthrough was a Blackwall romance, & I started over completely when he dropped his bombshell), and you get the only non-villain NPC in the entire series that I genuinely dislike.
> 
> Beyond that, the lack of any real accounting for the Fereldan order in Inquisition annoyed me. I get the budgetary/storytelling constraints, but at the end of Here Lies The Abyss, you are left with the assumption that Nathaniel, Oghren, Sigrun and the rest just went trotting off to Orlais when ordered & are dead. Never sat well with me, but that's what fanfiction is for, right? So it's not going to be just Talia; the Fereldan Wardens will be involved in the goings-on. This will obviously make for some changes to the canon plot, but if you've read much of my writing, you know that doesn't bother me much. My goal is to make it both believable and enjoyable.


	3. The Sole Survivor

_**Haven** _

_**13 Drakonis, 41 Dragon** _

_**Five days after the explosion** _

_**\---** _

This was wrong. All wrong.

Why couldn't she remember?

Alexandre trudged miserably between the Right Hand of the Divine and the Hero of Ferelden, feeling like a child trapped between two giants. Both of them were warriors, tall and strong. Legends, whose accomplishments were the stuff of history books and bards' songs. Just being in the same room with them - Maker, had it really been only a week ago? - had been intimidating enough, and they had been in a lighthearted mood then, even if their jokes had made her cheeks flame.

No more. Both women wore grim expressions, kept their hands close to the weapons at their hips, and when they looked at her -

Alex cringed inwardly, ducking her head. Both of them were wary, as though she was something dangerous, their expressions caught between suspicion and puzzlement. She wasn't even certain exactly what it was that they thought she had done. How could she possibly have caused an explosion that had killed everyone else at the Conclave (and her mind had not yet been able to accept that Divine Justinia and hundreds of others were dead)? How had she survived?

Why couldn't she remember?

Her memory had never failed her before. It had been the one noteworthy virtue in her otherwise unremarkable existence; anything she heard, anything that she read was forever in her mind. She could recall in detail the contents of books she had read years before, quote word for word conversations that she had overheard as a child -

" _How long until the Chantry will take her?"_

" _They asked to wait until she is twelve, so four more years."_

" _Seems foolish to waste that time, when you and your wife could be focusing all your energies on Willem."_

" _She's an easy enough child to deal with. Just give her a book and you'll not see her for hours. As long as she's out from under my roof before she's old enough to get into trouble with some boy and cost me another dowry -"_

\- whether she wanted to or not, but on this one subject, her mind remained stubbornly blank. She'd been bringing some documents to Divine Justinia, and then - nothing. Just a nightmare - surely it had been a nightmare! - of fleeing through a vast, bleak and ever-changing landscape, pursued by indistinct but terrifying monsters and trying to reach the nebulous figure of a woman who reached out to her, urging her onward. She had awakened from the nightmare to a ring of accusing faces, and her hand -

Overhead, the green light in the sky - the Breach, Seeker Pentaghast had called it - flared brighter, casting the swirling clouds surrounding it into an eldritch gleam. At the same time, a bolt of pure agony shot up Alex's left arm, as the mark on the palm of that hand pulsed an answering light. It had hurt since the moment she woke up: the dull, relentless throb of a toothache, but this was pain on a level that she had never experienced, like she imagined that holding her arm in a fire might feel, and she stumbled to her knees with a scream, cradling her left arm against herself as best she could with her wrists bound, tears streaming down her face.

"Please," she moaned. "It hurts so bad. Make it stop." A fresh lance of pain turned the last words into a shriek that she tried to hold back. Respectable young ladies must endure suffering with dignity. They must not create dramatic scenes to garner attention. They must not -

Another bolt of pain, and she could not help the wail that escaped her. "What's happening?" she choked out, lifting tear-filled eyes to her two escorts, who had knelt beside her.

"The mark on your hand is linked to the Breach," Seeker Pentaghast explained, looking more troubled than Alex had yet seen her. "The Breach is growing; unless we act, it may swallow the world."

Alex looked fearfully to the sky. The Breach was almost hypnotic to behold: beautiful, in a terrible sort of way, if you didn't know that it was a tear in the very fabric of reality, if you didn't know that the shooting stars that periodically burst from it to fall to the ground were demons escaping the Fade to attack any living thing they encountered. How could she possibly have caused … this? And if she had not, why did she bear the mark?

Why couldn't she remember?

"Each time the Breach expands, so does your mark," the Hero of Ferelden took up the explanation, her expression genuinely regretful as she added, "Eventually, it will kill you."

That … didn't sound like such a bad thing to Alex right now. The pain would end, and she would not have to see the faces of her parents when they found out what had happened. They had warned her against showing off her memory and learning, admonished her to just do as she was told and not embarrass them … and she had tried, she really had! But now - "If I die," she began slowly, turning the idea over in her head, "If the mark on my hand dies with me, will it end the Breach?"

The two women exchanged a glance, both of them looking troubled now. "No," Seeker Pentaghast replied, shaking her head, and Alex knew with a sudden cold clarity that the idea of killing her had been considered. "We do not believe so. The mark may be the key to stopping this, but there is not much time."

"How?" she asked, looking between them. "What do you mean?"

"The mark may be able to close the Breach," Seeker Pentaghast answered. "Whether that is possible is something that we hope to discover shortly."

"With me?" Alex stared between them uncomprehendingly. Of course, it had to be with her; the mark was on her hand, after all, but, "How?" Then, "What - what will happen to me?"

Again, the eyes of the two women met over her head, and there was no mistaking the guilt in their expressions. "We don't know," the Warden admitted softly, "but we will protect you as much as we can."

"It is our only chance," Seeker Pentaghast asserted, though she did not quite meet Alex's gaze as she added, "and yours."

Alex pondered this. The pain in her left arm was beginning to subside, but she had little doubt that whatever was going to be required of her would hurt every bit as much. "You … really think I did this?" She lifted her left hand slightly, wincing as the movement caused the pain to flare anew. "To myself?" The mark hadn't been there before the Conclave, and her only plans had entailed carrying documents as she was told and avoid notice as much as possible. She was as certain of those facts as she was of her own name.

But why couldn't she remember?

"Not intentionally," the Seeker conceded. "Clearly _something_ went wrong."

"I would never have hurt Divine Justinia!" Alex protested, the tears that had begun to taper off beginning to flow again in response to a very different kind of pain.

"Someone did," the older woman replied, her features hardening, "and many more besides. You are our only suspect. If you wish to prove your innocence, this is the only way."

"We can't do it without you," the Hero of Ferelden put in, more gently. "We wouldn't even know where to begin."

And she did? Alex would have laughed if she hadn't been sure that doing so would lead to a fresh round of tears. "I'll do what I can," she said falteringly. "I just … don't know if it will be enough." When had it ever been? All she had ever been good at was reading and remembering things, and even that had been more of an annoyance to her family than a point of pride.

The Warden gave her a weary smile. "That's all any of us can do, Alexandre," she said, reaching down to place a supporting hand under Alex's elbow as she rose. "We'll be with you."

"Everyone calls me Alex, Ward - Lady Cousland." She was not a Grey Warden anymore, was she? She had left them to be with Sister Leliana; Alex had heard the younger priests sighing about how romantic it was, while the older ones sniffed and called it irresponsible - though never when the Left Hand was near.

The warrior chuckled. "And nobody but the stuffed shirts call me Lady Cousland, Alex. Talia is fine." She looked pointedly to her companion, who was not smiling.

"You may call me Cassandra," she said grudgingly, giving Talia a reproving look.

"We're going to be fighting together," the other woman reasoned, and Alex felt her heart stutter and her steps falter.

"I - I don't know how to fight," she told them fearfully. "At all." Well-bred young ladies weren't supposed to fight. Or argue. Or raise their voices. Or -

"We'll take care of that part," Talia assured her. "You'll just … do what you need to do."

"What _am_ I supposed to do?" Alex could hear the apologetic note in her voice. She didn't _want_ to be a troublemaker, at least, not more than she already had been, but if she didn't know what she needed to do, how could she do it? What if she made things worse?

"We don't know." Cassandra looked none too pleased with the admission.

"We'll figure it out together," Talia asserted.

Cassandra looked annoyed. "As easy as that?"

Talia shrugged. "Do we have a choice?"

"There is that."

The tension between her two escorts did not seem to indicate hostility, and the banter might have been soothing, were it not for the subject matter. "What will happen to me after?" she asked timidly. "If I survive, I mean."

Cassandra looked pained at the qualifier but did not deny the possibility. "There will be a trial," she said quietly. "A fair one. I can promise you that."

"Can we at least untie her?" Talia wanted to know. "I don't think she's going to run."

Cassandra shook her head. "Not yet," she cautioned before Alex could promise that she would not run … where would she even run to?

Ahead, the path they followed was lined with onlookers on either side, with more approaching. Not many, compared to the hundreds that had thronged Haven only a few days prior. Less than threescore: soldiers and commoners, their faces pale and drawn with weariness and sorrow, but their eyes bright with fear and recrimination as they glared at her.

"Murderer!"

"Traitor!"

"Maleficar!"

Some of the accusations were muttered, some shouted; all of them hurt, and Alex shrank between Talia and Cassandra, dropping her head to avoid the accusing stares. She was no blood mage! She was not even a mage!

"They have decided your guilt," the Seeker told her in an undertone. "They need it." She sighed. "They lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as Justinia did."

Alex could hear the slight break in the woman's voice on the last words; daring to glance up, she could see the despair threatening to crumble the stony visage. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her throat tight. "If I could just remem-"

A stone flew from the crowd to their right, striking Alex just above her ear. She cried out and staggered, stars flaring in her vision, but the ragged cheers that rose from the onlookers cut off abruptly when the Hero of Ferelden whirled on them with sword drawn and eyes blazing.

"Enough!"

"She murdered the Divine!" a man with a bristling black beard shouted, eyeing the silver-blue blade fearfully. "She brought the Maker's wrath down upon us!" He jabbed a thick finger toward the Breach.

"That has not been determined," Cassandra declared firmly, keeping Alex between herself and Talia, her own sword still in its sheath but her expression no less fierce. "She is in custody, and until her guilt or innocence has been decided in a trial, she is under our protection!"

There were scattered grumbles at that, but none challenged her words, and the feeling of anger charging the crowd about them subsided into fearful discontent. Talia returned her sword to its sheath as they resumed their progress along the path.

"You should not have threatened them," Cassandra told Talia in a reproving tone.

"I don't make threats," the Warden replied flatly, her jaw still set in anger.

The Seeker's expression hardened into disapproval. "You would have cut down an unarmed man?"

"No," Talia admitted, glancing sideways at Cassandra, a faint smile playing at her lips, "but the flat of the blade makes a damn good paddle."

Cassandra snorted. "Do I want to know how you found that out?"

"I'll tell you sometime."

Again, the back-and-forth between her escorts was a welcome distraction for Alex, but it could not completely still her churning thoughts. How had the mark gotten on her hand? How was it linked to the Breach? And what if she had been somehow involved in the deaths of Divine Justinia and all the others at the Conclave?

Why couldn't she remember?

Ahead, the bridge that led out of the village to the path winding up to the temple was blocked by heavy oaken gates bound with iron bands and set into a massive granite gatehouse. The guards saluted her escorts as they approached, eyeing Alex with wary hostility.

"Where are we going?" she asked, watching as the heavy gates swung open. Beyond, the bridge was cluttered with crates and barrels being brought from the other side. Men and women sorted through the contents, taking inventory while casting frequent, fearful glances toward the sky.

"We must try your mark against something smaller than the Breach," Cassandra said, lifting her gaze toward the path that twisted up the mountain toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes - or where the temple had once stood. Alex followed her gaze and felt her heart lurch in her chest; the way was littered with burning debris and shattered trees, and far above, the Breach dominated the sky, clouds swirling around it and the same eldritch green light that emanated from the mark on her hand pulsing like the beat of an immense heart. The world tried to tilt sideways, and she swayed on her feet, feeling darkness looming at the edge of her vision.

A hand under her elbow steadied her. "We'll be with you all the way," Talia promised her. Cassandra's dark eyes dropped back to her; the Seeker nodded and - drew a dagger. Alex shrank against the Warden, and Cassandra's expression grew slightly exasperated.

"If we wanted to kill you, we had ample opportunity while you were unconscious," she informed Alex tersely as she stepped forward to cut the bonds at her wrists. "It was safer for those in Haven to see you bound," she explained, sheathing the dagger and settling the shield that had been secured at her back onto her left arm.

Alex nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. She kept pace as her escorts strode across the bridge and through the gates, which were closed behind them. The path to the temple had been cleared of snow prior to the Conclave, and scores of feet had kept it so in the days leading up to the event, but the slowly melting snow had created icy puddles on the harder parts of the route, while others were mires of mud. They passed a dead body, then another; neither Talia nor Cassandra looked down, but their grim expressions made it clear that they were aware of them. Alex glanced at the first one, then hastily averted her gaze at the sight of the face frozen in a rictus of agony and terror, blood running from countless grievous wounds to stain the mud on the path, and swallowed hard against her rising gorge as the ripe scent of decay reached her nose.

She was working up the nerve to ask why these poor wretches had not been brought back to Haven for a proper pyre - it seemed so wrong to simply leave them to rot - when Cassandra halted suddenly, extending an arm across the path.

"Talia." The Seeker's voice was barely louder than a breath as she eased her sword from its scabbard. Peering past her, Alex could see two more corpses sprawled ahead, steam rising in the chilly air from the entrails that had been spilled onto the ground.

Steam rising.

Icy tendrils of fear uncoiled in her gut as the significance registered. _Run!_ Alex's mind screamed at her, but her feet remained rooted to the ground

"I see them." Her reply no louder than Cassandra's words had been, Talia stepped around Alex. Her sword was back in her right hand, while her left gripped a wickedly hooked axe. Neither woman seemed afraid, but the terror rising in Alex's chest felt immense enough for all three of them. Then, in the next moment, it swelled even more, stealing her breath as shrill howls rose up and three monstrous shapes loomed from the shadows of the nearby trees. The cries sank down to Alex's bones, turning them to jelly and her blood to ice, but her escorts never paused, leaping to engage the demons with shouts of challenge.

Shades, an oddly detached part of her mind remarked, taking note of the indistinct grey forms that blurred and shifted, as though constantly seeking to define themselves even as they attacked the two warriors. She had read about demons; in the abstract, safely confined to the pages of a book, they were both fascinating and unsettling, these Fade denizens that embodied the darkest human emotions and hungered to experience the mortal realm. Seeing them only a few feet away from the people they had slaughtered, hearing their unearthly vocalizations, feeling the chill that their presence evoked, was the most frightening experience of Alex's short life. She could only stare wide-eyed as Talia and Cassandra fought them, their blades drawing no blood when they struck, but the screeches from the shades making it clear that the strikes were causing damage.

Then one slipped between the pair like a mist, and Alex found herself staring into a face that had only the barest suggestion of features: deeper shadows where the eyes should be and a smudge that might be a nose, but a yawning, hungry expanse for a mouth and gnarled claws that reached out for her. Alex tried to scream, but her throat felt as though it had narrowed to the width of a piece of straw; she tried to back away, slipped on a patch of ice and fell, then crabbed backward desperately, hands and feet slipping in the mud as the shade surged after her with dreadful eagerness.

Her right hand struck something solid, and in the next moment, her backward progress was arrested: she'd fetched up against one of the corpses they had passed moments before. She frantically tried to scramble backward over it as the shade closed in. Her hand closed around something hard: a sheathed dagger on the dead man's belt. She yanked it free and brandished it clumsily.

"Back!" she cried out, jabbing at the monstrosity. "Get away!" It wasn't working! She was going to die here in the mud and blood, her nostrils filled with the stench of the rotting body beneath her -

The shade's eager keen rose abruptly to a screech, and it whirled to face the one who had attacked it from behind. Talia gave it no chance to respond, her face set into a grim mask as a whirlwind of blows from axe and sword drove the demon away from Alex. It flailed at the Warden a few times before uttering a final, ululating howl and collapsed into nothingness. Alex stared, mouth agape, at the spot where it had been; a small pile of what might have been dust was rapidly dissolving into the mud.

"Drop your weapon!" Cassandra strode toward Alex, sword leveled at her and her expression fierce. "Now!"

Frightened by the sudden aggression, Alex complied instantly, but Talia stooped to retrieve it.

"She needs to be able to defend herself," she told Cassandra with a mildly exasperated look. The Seeker scowled but nodded, and Talia extended her other hand to Alex, who took it, grimacing at the feel of mud and blood and Maker only knew what else squelching between their fingers as she was hauled to her feet. "But you wouldn't have cut warm butter the way you were holding it," the Warden advised her. "Like this." She demonstrated, holding the dagger in a firm grip. Alex stared at her mutely, then drew back when the blade was offered to her.

"Let's get you cleaned up a bit," Talia murmured, regarding her grimy hands with chagrin. Alex allowed herself to be led to a bank of clean snow and followed Talia's lead, scooping up handfuls of the stuff and rubbing her hands together until the worst of the blood and mud was cleaned away. The cold jabbed into her hands like tiny knives, but it was infinitely preferable to the filth that had stained them. She stood, body shivering, mind numb, while Talia moved to the dead man, returned the dagger to its scabbard, and tugged the leather belt free, cleaning it with snow and returning to Alex.

"Easier than carrying it around all the time," she explained, guiding the leather strip around Alex's waist and securing it. "Maker, you're tiny," she remarked bemusedly, staring at the tail of the belt dragging in the mud at Alex's feet before lifting it and cutting it off at knee level. "Running's probably going to be your best defense for now."

"No," Cassandra disagreed. "She could run into greater danger and be too far away for us to help her; you were almost too late this time. Better that she stay close to us."

Alex stared between them, opened her mouth to reply - and burst into tears: great, gasping, undignified sobs that shook her entire body. In the back of her mind, she could hear her mother's voice sternly admonishing her not to make such a scene, but she couldn't help it! She was cold, she was terrified, she was confused, she was filthy, and she had never in her life felt so alone. She saw her escorts exchange helpless glances, tried to bring herself under control, but a fresh flare from the Breach sent a new wave of agony up her left arm. She screamed and collapsed into a miserable heap on the muddy road, more than ready to give up and let the next demon have her, if it would only end this nightmare.

"Hey." Hands urged her gently back to her feet, and then Talia was guiding her to sit on a stone beside the burning wreckage of a wagon. Not much, but the warmth, at least, was welcome, and the sobs tapered off to hiccups as the Warden produced a handkerchief and began cleaning her face.

"We don't have much time," Cassandra pointed out impatiently. "The pulses are coming faster. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, and the more demons we will be facing."

"She won't be able to do much if she's unconscious," Talia countered, pulling a vial from the pouch at her hip and peeling away the wax seal. "Drink this," she instructed, folding Alex's fingers around it. Alex complied, grimacing at the bitter taste, but then warmth - blessed warmth - began to radiate out from her belly, driving back the bone-deep chill, and she felt a bit stronger, though still very much afraid and confused.

"I don't know what to do," she said softly, cradling her left hand, afraid that jarring it would trigger another bolt of pain. "I don't know what this is." She opened her fingers, wincing at the flare of light, quickly closed them into a fist again. "I'm not a fighter or a mage. I'm not brave. I'm nobody." A daughter that had never been wanted, the most junior of the scribes at the Conclave … how could she possibly be any use in a disaster of this magnitude? "I don't know what to do," she said once more, staring down at her hand and the gleam of the mark visible even through her closed fingers, trying desperately to remember _how_ it had gotten there … and failing.

"I know you're afraid, Alex." Talia carefully folded both of her hands around Alex's. "I am, too."

"You?" Alex looked up in astonishment. "You killed the Archdemon!"

"And I was very afraid when I did," Talia replied with a faint smile that faded as she went on. "This … that thing -" She lifted her eyes briefly toward the Breach, "- scares me. I don't know what happened, or how to fix it. Nobody does." Her hands gently squeezed. "The mark on your hand is all we've got right now, and that means that we need you. And you need us."

Brown eyes looked earnestly into hers, and this close, Alex could see the pale lines of scars on the Warden's face and neck, the fresh scratch on her cheek still oozing blood. "I wasn't alone when I killed the Archdemon, Alex, and you won't be alone now. I give you my word as a Cousland that I will protect you, from the demons or anything else."

"You have my word, as well." Cassandra looked uncomfortable, but her jaw was set in resolve. "Nothing will harm you so long as I stand, but we must keep moving."

Two of the greatest warriors in Thedas sworn to defend her. It should have made Alex feel better, but … what if they were wrong? What if the mark didn't help? What if it made things even worse? And what, her mind whispered, what if she really was the one responsible for it all? The explosion, the Breach, the demons, the deaths of Divine Justina and the rest. What if Talia or Cassandra – or both of them - died protecting her, and she didn't deserve it?

But obedience had been drilled into her from her earliest years and could not be easily set aside. "All right," she heard her own voice say as if from a great distance, and she pushed herself to her feet.

"Good girl," Talia said, giving her shoulder an approving squeeze. The praise warmed Alex a bit as they set off once more, the two warriors keeping her in a protected position between them. If all of this was her fault, she had to do what she could to fix it, and if she died in the attempt, perhaps it was only just. It was certainly easier to contemplate that than facing her parents after they learned what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended to take this chapter all the way to the temple & the fight with the pride demon, but it was starting to get unwieldy. I tend to shoot for chapters in the 4-5 k range. I'll go over some if it's flowing well or there's no good break point, but this was looking like it would be heading toward the length of the Return To Ostagar chapter in MIT (11k+). Plus, between pandemic, politics & life in general, my writing time is taking a hit, so wrapping a chapter is a morale boost that I'm not going to turn down.
> 
> Anyhow, meet Alex. She's a far cry from Talia or Devon, different from any protagonist I've written to date. In the games, you're either a rogue, warrior or mage, but given the manner in which the Inquisitor gains the mark, it seemed just as likely that a non-combatant would be the one. She's got a long way to go, and I'm looking forward to writing her journey.
> 
> This is my first time writing Talia and Cassandra together, and figuring out their dynamics was fun. I've got their first meeting planned for Moments In Between, & a fairly stormy encounter sometime in Steadfast, but I decided that at this point, they've settled into mutual respect with the occasional lively disagreement.
> 
> As far as Alex goes, I elected to keep Cassandra with her canon initial reaction of gruff suspicion and let Talia be the more sympathetic counterpoint, as I figured she would be able to empathize with a young noble tossed in over her head.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter has been written for better than two years; I shoved it forcibly to the back burner until I finished Moments In Time, but I think it's time to pull it forward and set it to a low simmer.
> 
> It's showing every sign of being another behemoth, and updates will be dictated by my schedule, which has been anything but accommodating, so consider yourself warned: this is a long haul project
> 
> This is going to be more of an ensemble piece; Alex will be moving closer to front and center, but it felt right starting things off with Talia & Leliana. They will continue to play important roles, but the relationship dramas will be provided by others, and I intend them to be the stable heart of things on that front. They will disagree at times, even argue, but both of them are dedicated to the relationship and each other.
> 
> I've got a number of other pairings planned, few of which took place in the game, and as I have no doubt that some of them will change as I go, I won't even mention them here. Established pairings going in are: Talia/Leliana, Hawke/Isabela, Cullen/Bethany & Fergus/Anora.
> 
> As you may have noticed, I don't tend to adhere slavishly to the game storyline; I figure if you want that, you can play the game again. I will note one major change up front: there will be no Blackwall/Ranier in this tale, partly because his was a rare example of an NPC that I genuinely dislike, but mostly because having Talia and the Fereldan Wardens involved negates the need for him.


End file.
